Forbidden
by lycanus1
Summary: After Sam turns his back on his family, Dean finds himself falling for the one person that's forbidden to him. *WARNING: AU. Rated for strong language, mild incestuous slash*
1. Honour thy Father

******DISCLAIMER:** Sadly, Winchester Snr & Jnr _aren't_ mine. Eric Kripke refuses to part with them, despite a genuine offer of a loving home ... No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes:**

1) Set during Sam's first year at Stanford Uni. in 2001. Dean is 22 years old, John, 47.  
2) Pt. I, "Honour Thy Father" is Dean's pov.

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Part I: **_**Honour thy father ...**_

**The Fall, 2001**

My life sucks. Truly sucks ...

Sammy's gone. Left. Broken free and flown the coop to college. Or if I'm being picky, to study law at Stanford University. Deep down, I know I should be happy for him. Hell, I _am_ happy for him.

All Sam's ever wanted was a normal life and this is his chance. I want him to have this opportunity, to make the most of his life. Sammy's smart. Real smart. He's actually going to make something of his life ... Go places ... Be someone. He's not cut out for the family business, like I am. For a start, he's far too argumentative and opinionated. My baby bro doesn't follow orders and you could never call him a "yes-man" - and that winds the hell up out of our old man ...

He may not show it - I know for a fact that he makes a damn point not to - but Dad's gutted that Sam's left. He feels hurt and betrayed by his decision to quit hunting and opt for normality. The two weeks leading up to Sam's departure were crap. Totally shit. They did nothing but fight and bitch all the time and I kept ending up feeling like a bone caught between two snarling mutts.

They're my family and I love them both dearly. But this situation between them's slowly killing me. Sam left five weeks ago, on extremely bad terms with the old man. Words and accusations were spitefully hurled between them. Things said which could never be unsaid. Sam really lost it. And Dad ? Well, he was so bitterly hurt and disappointed that the row culminated in him stating icily, "Samuel Winchester ... You walk out that door, don't even think of coming back. _Ever._ You're no son of mine ..."

I could tell as soon as those angry words passed his lips that he deeply regretted them. But my Dad's a proud, stubborn man and was intent on saving face. He wouldn't back down. Despite his love - and yeah, he loves Sam deeply, although he rarely shows it - he couldn't ...

I'll never forget the fleeting look of pain on Sam's face, as the old man's words sank in. He looked like a badly kicked puppy. Then just as quickly, his face became an icy, unfeeling mask. He just reached for his things, a large duffle bag and his laptop and coldly snapped, "Fine ... Suits me just fine. You've let hunting become an obsession. It's taken over your life. Consumed you. Not everyone's like you, Dad. Fuck ! I don't want _this_ life. I never asked for it. I don't want to be like you, so obsessed with the past that you forget about what's important. What's right in front of you ... What you still have ... I want more from life and I mean to get it."

He paused and ran an agitated hand through his mop of dark brown hair. "There's more to life than hunting. Killing things. The family business. I'm leaving 'cause I want out. And nothing ... no one's gonna stop me quitting !" He slowly turned to look at me, his steady gaze full of regret, "'Bye, Dean ... I'll be seeing you, bro ..."

And with those final words, he stormed off. Out of our lives. Without even a backward glance.

After that, we never spoke about what happened that day. Sam's name was never mentioned, even though we both loved and missed him desperately. It became an unspoken rule between us. Even so, he was never far from our thoughts. I suspected Dad still kept tabs on him at Stanford and I'm pretty sure he always knew that I kept leaving messages on Sam's cell begging him just to call once in a while, just so that we knew he was ok. But in the end, my requests fell on deaf ears and my calls gradually dwindled into nothing.

_**XXXXX**_

**Spring, 2002**

Then it was just the two of us. We were always on the move and never stayed anywhere longer than we had to. Dad had a gift for finding us new gigs, new hunts. His motto seemed to be _get the job done and get gone._

We lived out of our duffle bags, drifting from one piss-poor motel to another until they all began to appear identical. Real dives, which we only used in order to catch up on some zzzz's before moving on to another job, in another small town, in a different state, always managing to end up in yet another similar, crappy motel.

Being a former marine, he'd take charge and make all the decisions. I sometimes disagreed with his orders, but being a dutiful, loyal son, I always obeyed them - though not always to the letter - like a good, little soldier. I saw no reason not to, as I love my dad. I respect him. I trust him implicitly and I know that he'd never do anything deliberately that'd put me in harm's way. He always has my back, as I have his ...

So why is it, six months after Sam deserted us, I made the most stupid, reckless mistake of my life so far ? Something that's wrong on so many levels. Something which was - _is _- forbidden ... Taboo ...

I can say, hand on heart, that I've no idea why I did it. Why I was compelled to do what I did. Why I craved it so badly. Maybe it was because we were holed up in another crappier that usual, cramped room and were living on top of each other. Maybe it was because we'd got dragged into a bar room brawl, after I'd been caught hustling pool and my dad had to bail me out ... or maybe, it was 'cause I was wasted and I told him I loved him ...

In the end, it hardly mattered that it was a combination of all three of those excuses. All I cared about, in my alcohol-addled state, was that I hadn't lied to him. I'd spoken nothing but the truth. Over the past couple of months, we'd been in each other's company twenty four-seven. Continuously in each other's faces and pockets. Seeing the best and the worst of ourselves. During this time, I'd begun to see him - despite my better judgement - in a different light. I saw him as less than a father and more as John, the man. And if I'm being honest, I liked what I saw - a lot ...

Although three years shy of the big five-oh, he's still an imposing man. He stands tall. Well over six foot and still has the bearing of a marine and the toned, muscular physique of a man in his mid-thirties. He's kept himself in good shape, despite going through a bad phase of drinking heavily whilst suffering from depression a couple of years ago. But since we'd been thrown together in such close quarters, I've become intensely aware of how ruggedly attractive he truly is. And now I'm drawn to him. Like a moth to a flame ...

D'ya want to know what the real kicker is here ? Why all this is one big, twisted, fucking joke ? It's the fact that_ I_, Dean Winchester, ladies' man extraordinaire, have fallen - for the first time in my life - deeply and obsessively in lust with another man. And it's no ordinary man either. After all, I've never done anything by halves. Oh, no ... that's just not my style. Nah, I've clearly fucked up this time ... This time I've gone too far. I want the one man I can't have. A man who's forbidden to me ... My father.

_God !_ This is tearing me apart, being denied the one person I truly want more than anything. It's never happened to me before. Not being able to have the person I long for in my arms and in my bed.

I know it's wrong. Utterly, totally, completely and hopelessly wrong that I feel this way about the man that sired and cared for me. But I can't help it. I yearn for him - although he's oblivious to my feelings. He just sees me as his firstborn and loves me the way a father should love his son. Purely, protectively and unconditionally. Like a child should and ought to be loved. That's not to say that he was ever soft on me or even spoilt me. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was a strict father and you could almost say he raised me like a mini-marine. I can't say I loved him for it at the time, but it was his rules, his orders, that kept me alive up to now and for that I'll always be grateful to him.

Every day it's getting tougher to be around him. To be near him. To be beside him and not allowed to touch him. To love him as I want to love him. Wholeheartedly and in every way imaginable ...

_Shit !_ I want him so bad that it fucking hurts. Physically hurts. I've this constant ache within me. It feels like my heart's being crushed in a vice. My concentration's shot to pieces and I feel lightheaded whenever he's nearby. But all that's nothing compared to the raging hard-on I've permanently had over the last few months 'cause of the way he makes me feel. I swear to God, I must have the severest case of blue balls ever known to man by now ... never mind the times I've had to go and relieve myself 'cause he's in my thoughts and dreams morning, noon and night.

_**XXXXX**_

So here I am - it's well past midnight - out of my freaking head on Jack Daniels and Budweiser, slumped against our motel room wall, tentatively licking my busted lower lip. The room starts to spin and for a brief moment, I have to close my eyes just so I'm able to remain on my feet. I can hear my Dad - or John, as I now think of him - rummaging in the tiny bathroom and cursing up a storm as he tries to find where he put the gauze swabs, antiseptic cream and painkillers.

It was stupid and pathetic of me to get so fucking wasted, but it honestly made sense at the time. I only ended up this way 'cause for one night - just one night - I wanted to forget the way I felt about him. Just to be without the gut-wrenching ache of longing and desire that's slowly killing me, for one goddamn, single night. Was that too much to ask ?

But as I felt his large, callused hand rest on my t-shirt clad shoulder and the warmth of his breath gently caress my face, I knew my plan had backfired. That there'd be no respite for me.

"Hey ! Dean !" Even his deep, gravelly voice's attractive and had my traitorous body swaying towards his. "Look at me, son ... Open your eyes for me, Dean. Please ..."

"Love you, Dad ... You know that, don't ya ?"

I heard him sigh heavily then reply gruffly, "Yeah ... yeah, son, I know. Now quit screwing around, so I can check for concussion. That was some blow you took, kid ..."

I finally opened my eyes and blearily focused on his face, absently noting the flecks of grey in his neatly trimmed beard as he carefully studied my bruised face. "It's true, y'know ? Love you more than anything ... Anyone ... _Even_ Sammy ..." I blinked at him owlishly, then rested my forehead against his and sighed.

He slowly shook his head and pulled away from me, his dark, warm, whisky-hued eyes gazing at me in a mixture of exasperation, concern and love. "Dean ... Dean ... Dean ... What the hell am I going to do with you, son ? Let me h- "

As soon as I felt his eyes upon me, I was lost. I was compelled to act upon my feelings, my need and yearning for him. Before he realized what was going on, I claimed his mouth and kissed him feverishly, determined to get a response from those cool, firm, non-responsive lips. He immediately froze and his tall, powerful frame coiled with tension and shock.

Never had I felt such a desperate need, a hunger, for someone to reciprocate to my demands. I slid one arm inside the open plaid, flannel shirt that he wore, to encircle his waist and entwined the other one around his neck, drawing his long, lean body even closer to mine. I could feel the warmth emanating from him, as I lined my slighter build flush against him. As I shifted, I was all too aware of how tight and unyielding my jeans had become and how he could hardly miss my arousal.

I began to put my heart and soul into the kiss as I tried to coax a willing response from him. Moaning softly, I gently ran the tip of my tongue along the seam of his lips in order to gain access to his mouth. That's when I heard his faint, husky groan and felt his warm lips begin to soften and move beneath mine before parting slightly. I could hardly believe my luck. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took advantage of the situation and began to leisurely probe and explore the warm, moist cavern. My tongue duelled with and caressed his. A tiny spark of passion ignited between us and began to flicker and take hold. I began to drown in the feel of him and savoured the taste of peppermint toothpaste, the hint of strong, black coffee and Wild Turkey on his lips. He tasted so good and felt so perfect. So right ...

Then suddenly, I was abruptly pushed away. Confused, I watched him warily. Even though I was loaded, I noted that he'd swiftly put some distance between us and was pacing agitatedly. He ran a trembling hand through his thick, dark hair and was unable to meet my gaze. Suddenly, he raised his head and looked at me through dark, gold-flecked horrified, accusing eyes. His handsome countenance was drained of colour and his expression was distraught and full of self-loathing and disgust as he sank down to sit on the edge of the nearest bed, before covering his face with both hands.

"D-Dad ... ?" I whispered hesitantly, unsure as to whether I should approach him. "John ... ?"

His head snapped up and he glared at me through narrowed eyes. He seemed shattered. Devastated by what had just happened between us.

"Dean ... What the ... ?" He rasped, sounding completely broken. "What the fuck did you just do ? Tell me ! What the fuck's going on here ? Why the hell did_ you _kiss me ?"

I swallowed hard and decided to bite the bullet. I _had_ to tell him. Loving him the way I did was damn near killing me and I'd gone way past the point of no return when I kissed him. I couldn't lie to him about my feelings any more. Cautiously, I inched closer and crouched between his long, muscular, denim-clad legs.

"I love you," I said huskily as I watched him intently, "I _really_ love you ..."

"Look, son ... You've gotten too up close and personal with Jack 'n' Bud tonight. You're pissed, tired and confused. Dean, you're just not thinking strai- "

I raised my right hand, lightly rested it against his cheek and gently brushed the ball of my thumb across his full, kiss-swollen lower lip. "Fuck ! _You're _not listening to me, are you ? When I said I loved you, I meant I was_ in _love with you ... I want you ..."

I knew as soon as I uttered those words that I'd made a mistake. He immediately recoiled from me. His strikingly beautiful eyes stricken and full of guilt. It felt as if I'd been struck - hard - in the gut and his rejection hurt. The pain I felt was far worse than anything I'd ever experienced.

"Holy Mary, mother of Jesus ..." he breathed, as the impact of my words finally struck him. "What the hell's wrong with you, boy ? You're my son ... What you feel for me is wrong, d'ya hear ? So fucking wrong. It can_ never _happen, Dean. Ever ..."

"But Joh- "

His eyes narrowed angrily at my use of his name. "Dean, no ! I'm your fathe- "

"_You _kissed me ..." I accused him softly, my gaze pleading with him. "I may be wasted, but I didn't imagine that. I can still feel _your_ lips on mine ... I can _still_ taste you ..."

"And may God forgive me for it ! That was wrong of me and I never meant for it to happen, I swear."

I could feel tears start to prick my eyes and I rounded on him. "But it _did_ happen. _We _kissed, damn it ! I'm in love with you and I can't help it. Shit ! I've felt this way about you for months. Ever since Sammy left. And I'm _not_ fucking sorry about it ... _I'm_ not ashamed about the way I feel about you ..."

He sighed, "Dean- " He absently stroked his beard, before moving his hand to wearily rub the nape of his neck.

By now, tears were silently streaming down my face and I suddenly sprang to my feet. I moved away from him, swaying slightly.

"_No !_ Don't you "Dean" me ... D'ya think I don't know how wrong this is ? I _know_, ok ? I know I'm not supposed to have these feelings. These urges. But I can't help it. I know it's wrong of me to want you so badly that I ache. To want to fuck you through the mattress. Have you scream my name with raw passion as I go down on you and make you cum like you've never done before ... To feel your warmth, your strength and your weight crushing me as you take me any and every way you can. I know how fucked-up this is. I don't need you to tell me that ... I ... I just don't fucking care ..."

All my pent-up emotions shone clearly in my eyes. Undeniable and absolutely genuine. Going by the look of anguished pain on his face, I could tell that he knew I wasn't lying. That I was genuinely in love with him. I ran a tired hand through my short, dark blond hair making it spikier than ever and whispered sadly, "I just _don't _care anymore ..."

I felt my chest constrict and a sob began to rise in my throat. All I knew was that I had to escape. That I'd screwed up once again. Only this time, it was the worst thing I'd ever done. My biggest mistake ever. I'd ruined the most important relationship I ever had and that it could never be fixed. No matter how desperately I wanted it to.

Wallowing in pain, misery and self-pity, I opened the door and bolted outside into the cold night air, ignoring the rain which was pelting down and his worried cries for me to stay. I fled into the dark and ran 'til I could run no more.

**T.B.C.**


	2. My wayward Son

**Author's Notes: **

Pt. II, "My Wayward Son" is John's pov.

_**XXXXX**_

**Part II:**_** My Wayward Son ...**_

**Spring, 2002**

_Damn !_ I sure didn't see that coming ... It came like a bolt from right out of the blue and I don't mind admitting that it's freaking me out. A lot ... And I _never_ freak out. Well, not after all the shit I've seen over the years ...

Don't get me wrong, I love the kid and I'm so proud of him. Dean's about the only good thing I have left and I sure as hell don't want to lose him if I can help it. He's my firstborn and any parent would be extremely lucky to have him for a son. I thank God every day that he's mine and I'm truly blessed to have him in my life. Dean's my pride and joy and my biggest regret is that Mary never lived to see how well he turned out, especially after everything he's been through. She'd have been so proud of him ...

Whenever I look at him, I can't help being struck by how similar he is to my beloved Mary, in both looks and nature. I sometimes meet Dean's expressive, green eyes and it's like having her look back at me. The likeness between my late wife and my eldest son is uncanny. He possesses all of her strengths and virtues and unfortunately, most of my shortcomings and weaknesses.

When you consider how impatient, stubborn, wilful, hot-headed and cocky Dean can be, there's no doubt that he's _my_ flesh and blood. That he _is_ my son. But all those negative traits are compensated by his intelligence. He may not be book-smart like his brother, Sam, but he makes up for it by being street-smart and shrewd. He possesses a quick wit; has a sweet and loving nature and above all, the boy's loyal to a fault. Relentlessly so. Even to the point of death ...

Looking back, most of our disagreements are down to his wilful fealty to me. Dean will recklessly jump in where angels fear to tread if he believes I'm in danger or in trouble. There's nothing the boy wouldn't do for me and I'd willingly do the same for him, if it ensures his safety and keeps him alive. Ultimately, that's all that matters to me. That I don't lose him, like I've lost everything else that I care for and value ...

That's partly why his confession has rocked me to my core. It's like he's unwittingly driven a wedge between us and I don't know how to react to it. What I do know is that Dean's never lied to me about anything. He's never been able to fool me or pull the wool over my eyes, especially after he's been drinking.

With hindsight, I should've realized something was up with him over these past few months. He's become more protective and is always keeping a close eye on me and watching my back. Every so often, I feel his limpid, emerald gaze fixed upon me, its warmth caressing me when he thinks I'm unaware of his scrutiny.

Unusually for him, he's been rather "touchy-feely" lately and unless you're under thirty five, female with long, flowing hair and stacked with a 36DD chest, that's virtually unheard of ... Until tonight, I didn't think twice about it. But now, looking back, there was a lot more to it. The casual, friendly pats on the shoulder and how his fingers accidentally, yet lingeringly brushed against my hands when he'd pass me my weapons or my duffle bag; all those times he's patched me up after a hunt had gone bad, his touch light, gentle and sure against my sensitive, wounded flesh, like a lover's ...

But what _should_ have alerted me to this crazy obsession he's developed for me, is the way he "forgets" to lock the bathroom door as he takes a shower and then slips past me through the narrow doorway with just a damp towel draped around his lean waist. It's almost as if he craves some kind of physical contact with me.

There's no denying that he's a fine looking boy. Or man, I should say ... Women can't get enough of him. There was a time (when Sam was still with us) that he'd reciprocate and enjoy their feelings wholeheartedly. But since his brother left, he's just been content with my company. Insisting that I go bar crawling with him when I force him to go out and unwind after a particularly rough day.

Being six foot tall, with a lean, athletic, tautly-muscled build; short, dark blond hair; golden skin lightly dusted with freckles; arresting green eyes; high cheekbones and those full, pouting lips, Dean's_ never _short of willing female company. But lately, he's clearly been uninterested and has knocked back all offers. All he seems to want to do is hang out with me, have a beer and eat, then go back to our room and sleep.

I know if I don't do anything about it soon, this could end up a fucking nightmare of a problem. So far, Dean's managed to keep his mind on the job and until tonight, his feelings to himself. But now, I don't know how to deal with situation or how to handle him. Maybe it'd be best if I just took off in the middle of the night and left him. But I can't do that to him. I can't repay his unswerving loyalty by abandoning him. I'd be betraying him and he'd be so devastated.

Throughout his young life, Dean's selflessly put other people's needs, wishes and desires ahead of his own. He's never asked for anything. _If _he has, it's always been for someone else._ Never _for himself. It's as if he feels he isn't entitled to anything good and that just fucking kills me. If anyone ever deserved his heart's desire, it's my brave, fearless, self-sacrificing boy.

I have to stop calling him that ... a "boy." He ceased being a boy long ago and had to become a man far too soon. Dean's had to grow up way too fast and had responsibilities dumped on him when he should have been allowed to enjoy his youth like most other kids. He lost his innocence. Saw things he never should have had to see; learnt things a child shouldn't have to know ... and I'm to blame for it all ...

_God !_ I wish I'd handled this fucked-up situation better. I'll never forget how devastated he looked before he bolted. It's my fault he's hurting so bad and if I could find a way to take it back, I would. It took a helluva lot of nerve for him to admit what was bugging him ... Even if he did have help in confessing from Jack and Bud ... One thing you can safely say about Dean, is that he has stones alright. Huge ones.

What he said ... Fuck, what he did, scared the shit out of me but it's no excuse for the way I treated him. The way I acted. I was a bastard pure and simple ... He must've felt so confused and the way I reacted, must've really messed him up. Dean, if he was in his right mind and thinking clearly, would never have cut and run like that. Never ...

Like I said, I was a real bastard and I'm deeply ashamed of the way I acted. What's really freaking me out is - once I got over the shock - how good it felt to be held in his arms and what a stunningly good kisser he is. The things he can do with that talented tongue of his is mind-blowing. No wonder he's so popular with women. Now I'm having problems dealing with how something that's forbidden by our society, which is so wrong, can feel so right ... So perfect.

I fought against responding to that kiss, but in the end, I must've been beguiled by it. 'Cause, even now, I can _still_ feel those firm, cool lips on mine. Caressing, teasing and mesmerizing. And so help me God, I _have_ fallen into temptation ... Despite knowing how wrong it is and the gnawing guilt I feel, I enjoyed it. More than I would've thought possible. So much so, that I'd give anything to experience it again. To feel Dean's long, hard, lean body crush mine and his sweet, wicked mouth seduce me into doing whatever he desired. To go further. Much further ...

_**XXXXX**_

**Two hours later**

A combination of guilt and worry got to me in the end and I went looking for him.

Usually when Dean bolts or goes off on one, he'll eventually turn up once he's cooled down and had time to think things through. But somehow, instinctively, I knew it wouldn't be the case this time. After a tense half hour of waiting, I realized he wasn't coming back. That he was avoiding me for one of two reasons. Either he was devastated by my reaction and needed to be on his own to lick his wounds. Or - and this was my greatest fear - something bad had happened to him.

For once, luck was on my side and I quickly found Dean. Just as well really, considering the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The downpour was relentless and I was soon drenched to the bone. I stumbled upon him by the side of the highway. Soaked to the skin, Dean lay on the ground curled up in a foetal position, silent and non-responsive. For one chilling, heart-stopping moment I thought I'd lost him. Then, to my intense relief, he gave a faint moan and began to move.

Eventually, I got him back to our room and was shocked by his appearance. He looked like a drowned rat. Dean's bruised, handsome face was pale and tear-stained. His lithe frame shivered uncontrollably and his skin was icy and clammy. Swearing under my breath, I got him to sit on his bed before going into the tiny bathroom to turn on the shower. By the time I'd stripped off my sodden jacket and shirt, toed off my boots and socks and got back to him, I saw that he hadn't moved a muscle. He sat huddled up on the end of the bed. The shivering had, if it were at all possible, worsened and his skin had taken on a bluish tint. What really had me worried was the blank, withdrawn expression on his face and that his striking green eyes were dull and unfocused. For a strong, young man who was always full of life and vitality, his apathy and listlessness had me worried sick.

"Shit ! Dean ... Come on, buddy. You're frozen. You need to get out of those wet clothes and into that shower. _Now_, Dean !"

The worried tone in my voice must've finally penetrated his skull, as Dean slowly and stiffly rose to his feet. His movements were really sluggish and he had trouble removing the saturated, black t-shirt that clung like a second skin to his upper body. Seeing him struggle with the rest of his clothes, I ended up carefully, yet swiftly, stripping him before leading him into the bathroom and shoving him beneath the hot water in the shower cubicle. He just stood meekly beneath the spray for a few minutes and overcome by inertia, made no further attempt to move. That's when I noticed the tears silently falling down his face and I cursed softly, realizing I'd have to do what I'd been hoping to avoid at all costs - I'd have to get into the shower with him.

As I reluctantly unbuckled my belt, I saw Dean out of the corner of my eye, slump against the cubicle wall and slide down its length to sit on the slippery floor. He drew up his knees and wrapped both arms around them, before resting his forehead upon his forearms. I'd never seen him look so defeated. So broken.

Sighing deeply, I walked into the shower, still dressed in my jeans and white t-shirt, and turned off the water before sitting down beside him. Dean was oblivious to my presence, but as soon as I laid my hand upon his shoulder he flinched, then reluctantly raised his head. Confusion and misery reigned on his face, yet he remained silent. I slipped my arm around his shoulders and felt him briefly resist, before sagging against me and finally resting his head on my shoulder.

It was sheer hell being so close to him. Having his sleek, wet, perfectly formed body in my arms; feeling the warmth of him through my damp clothing; hearing his soft, steady breathing and trying damn hard not to be so aware of his nakedness.

I wish to God that he'd never kissed me or confessed his feelings, because it's terrifying how quickly a person's life _can_ change in such a short space of time. Three hours ago, I lived in a state of blissful ignorance. Within two hours, my life had been turned completely upside down ... And all I can think of now, is impure thoughts, lustful ones, about someone who's supposed to be out of bounds. Off-limits. Someone I love deeply, yet mustn't touch. My son. My Dean ...

What he said earlier, before he stormed off, continues to race around in my mind. I keep having vivid images - fuelled by his words, his desire, his love - of Dean's body covering mine. Pleasuring us both. Loving me ... And heaven help me, I can't help wanting it. I crave it. Long for him ...

Dean trembled and I knew he must be cold. Guilty for allowing him to lose whatever warmth he'd gained, I silently led him out of the shower and began to briskly towel him dry. The thin, white towel glided across his broad shoulders and down his back. I tried not to think of how firm his pert ass felt and swallowed hard as I heard Dean's soft, needy moans. He slowly turned and passively allowed me to continue to dry him, his body instinctively swaying towards mine as the damp cloth made short work of his powerful chest, abs and toned thighs. He was all sleek muscle; hard steel covered with warm, golden silk. As I firmly stroked his taut thighs with the towel, I couldn't avoid being aware of his arousal. Dean's "little" soldier stood perfectly to attention, erect and proud. I felt my mouth become dry. I froze, my hands trembled as I tried not to brush against the long, thick member and I quickly backed away. Panicking, I mutely offered him the towel 'cause I daren't carry on with my task.

Dean instantly picked up on the confusion, shame, guilt and the yearning I felt warring within me. He closed the gap between us and gently took the towel from my numb fingers. All the while he watched me steadily, his limpid green eyes now softened with compassion and understanding. He raised his right hand and lightly caressed my cheek with his fingers.

"It's ok," he murmured huskily. "I know ... I know what you're going through. For the past six months it's all I've dreamt of. All I want and hunger for. There's nothing you can think of that_ I _haven't already imagined. Believe me ..." His eyes fell upon my mouth, the extent of his need, his yearning, laid bare for all to see in their depths.

My breath suddenly hitched and I heard Dean give a low moan and mutter, "I'm sorry. Please, forgive me but I need this ... Just this once ..." He gently drew me towards him and brushed his lips against mine.

It was a kiss unlike any I'd ever experienced before. Not even with my beloved wife. Soft and reverential, it was a tender and lingering kiss, with an underlying current of passion and hunger. This time, I didn't resist. I couldn't, even if I'd wanted to ... if my life depended on it. I couldn't. And in all honesty, I didn't _want_ to fight it. I returned the kiss wholeheartedly and sank willingly into his embrace.

_**XXXXX**_

So, here I am ... It's five in the morning and I'm still awake. Sleep is elusive and although I'm feeling absolutely knackered, I don't care. This is the happiest I've been since that yellow-eyed bastard took my wife. I honestly thought I'd never feel this content again and I've never been so glad to have been proved wrong. For the first time in months, I feel calm and strangely at peace and it's a rare and precious feeling. To experience a glimmer of light and hope in a nightmarish world of darkness and despair.

And the reason why I'm feeling this way is nestled at my side. Fast asleep. Stirring languorously, Dean inches closer to drape himself possessively across my body. Even while he sleeps, he's determined to protect me and just to make sure I'm unable to leave, I find myself effectively pinned to the bed by a long, well-muscled leg. It's funny, but the last thing I want to do right now is leave, as I'm perfectly content in his embrace. Especially when I feel those full, sensual lips nuzzling my throat and his slim, callused fingers lace through mine.

"Love you ..." Dean mumbled drowsily as I idly run my fingers up and down his spine, making him writhe and almost purr with pleasure. I smile faintly. My boy's such a hedonist. He enjoys being pleasured and equally revels in returning the favour.

I know now, that I've succumbed to something that's forbidden. Fallen into temptation. That there's a special place for me in hell for the sin I've committed. For lying with my son. But I am past caring. So long as we're careful and we keep moving, no one need ever know what happens between us behind closed doors. We both know what we're doing is wrong. That it's an anathema. That we'd be persecuted and ostracized for it, if we were found out ... But I've suddenly realized that this is something we _both_ need and want. Desperately ...

I'm a forty seven year old man. Middle-aged, cynical, twisted and lonely. An embittered, selfish, stubborn bastard. I can't afford to start a relationship with anyone, because I've lost everyone I've ever loved. And I know I'm risking all that I hold dear by getting involved with Dean. But when I look at him, all I can see is the one constant in my life; the only person to stand by me through thick and thin. The one individual who's loved me unconditionally, despite my nasty temper and arrogant, unpredictable behaviour.

_If_ being with me truly makes Dean happy and _is_ what he genuinely wants, then who am I to argue with him ? More than anyone I know, Dean deserves to be happy. He's sacrificed so much in his short life. His freedom. His education. His hopes and aspirations. But if I am able to somehow help fulfil his dreams, then being damned for eternity in both man and God's eyes is a small price I'm willing to pay in order to ensure and secure his happiness. He means the world to me - although I rarely show it. He's my son. My closest friend ... My confidante ... Hunting partner and now, my forbidden lover.

I'd go to hell and back if need be, in order to protect him. Christ ! I'd even sacrifice my soul, my life, for him if the need ever arose. I couldn't bear to lose him, 'cause I love him and_ he's _my only reason for living ...

**Finis**


End file.
